


Silver & Cold

by yours_eternally



Series: Early Band Oneshots [3]
Category: Motionless in White (Band)
Genre: Blood, M/M, Minor Injuries, Nosebleed, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24960247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yours_eternally/pseuds/yours_eternally
Summary: ‘So does it hurt?’ he asks when Chris lowers the can, balancing it on the arm of the couch.‘Not really,’ Chris says, fingertips pressing at his face tentatively.‘You sure?’ Ricky says picking at a loose thread on the ripped knee of Chris’ jeans, not looking at him, ‘—you sure you don’t wantDr Horrorto kiss it better?’ Chris snorts at the line.Ricky and Chris find some alone time during the afterparty, celebrating their first month of tour. Early Band.
Relationships: Chris "Motionless" Cerulli/Ricky "Horror" Olson
Series: Early Band Oneshots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011711
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	Silver & Cold

Chris slides his hands over Ricky’s waist, pulling him closer into his body. They’re stuck at the mouth and Ricky’s pulling uselessly at Chris’ belt trying to get it undone.

‘ _Rick,_ ’ Chris slurs into his mouth, palms burning as they run up his sides and over his ribs underneath his clothes. Ricky moans around Chris’ tongue as he slides it deeper into his mouth. Ricky takes another step back towards the beat-up couch; the only soft furniture in the basement room. Chris moves closer to him, sliding his thigh between Ricky’s, leaning into him.

Ricky feels the couch arm catch him behind the knees then he’s overbalancing, falling over backwards to bounce on the cushions. Chris falls down on top of him and they knock heads with a wet thwack.

‘Fuck,’ Chris grunts, hand flying up to his face as his knees dig into the couch either side of Ricky’s waist.

‘Ow, shit,’ Ricky grumbles, rubbing the new sore spot on his forehead. He’s on back, blinking; a little blurred from the bump and his dick is distracting him.  
  
Chris makes a muffled noise and Ricky realises there’s blood on his face with a jolt of panic.

‘Shit!’ he says again, ‘fuck— sit down, okay.’ He gets up, wrestling off the hoodie he’s wearing over his t-shirt and pushing Chris to sit on the spot on the couch he’s just vacated. He wads up it and presses against Chris' face trying to stop the blood. Chris puts his hand over the makeshift gauze and tips his head back.

‘No, lean forward— you’ll drown on the blood otherwise,’ Ricky says, pulling on his shoulder to make him move.

‘ _Drown on the blood?_ ’ Chris repeats thickly, frowning at him.

‘Yeah,’ Ricky says, folding his arms with a shrug.

‘And where did you get your MD, Dr Horror?’ Chris says, laughing through the fabric as he leans forward, elbows on his knees.

‘Fuck You State,’ Ricky smirks, flipping him off as he tracks over to the cooler they were sent down to the basement to retrieve. Ricky can hear the music from the afterparty pounding through the boards above their heads and guesses it won’t be long until they're missed. He snags a pair of beers, going back over to Chris and handing him one.

‘For your face,’ he interrupts when he sees Chris open his mouth to launch into the Straight-Edge Manifesto. Again. And, yeah, he gets it and he _knows_ how much shit Chris gets for not drinking (even in The Year of Our Lord 2009). But he doesn’t need to hear his spiel, not right now, while he’s still kind of got a hard on and there's blood on his hands.

Chris removes the hoodie from his face gingerly as Ricky sits next to him. The nosebleed has stopped so he presses the iced beer awkwardly against his nose as Ricky grins at him.

‘I think that’s every bodily fluid on your face tonight, right?’ he says, cracking open his own beer; the show had been a particularly rowdy one.

‘Nope,’ Chris says, rubbing at the blood under his nose. ‘No jizz.’

‘Not yet,’ Ricky smirks and Chris throws the bloody cloth at him. Ricky bats it away with a yelp and Chris laughs at him.

‘Is that your only one?’ he says nodding at the wrecked hoodie now on the floor a few feet from them.

‘It _was_ — you see how much I love you, Cerulli?’ Ricky says, poking Chris in the ribs as he takes a swig of his beer. Chris snorts.

‘This is totally your fault,’ Chris says after watching Ricky sip at his beer for a moment.

‘No way, dude,’ Ricky says, laughing, ‘—how did you even make it to adulthood? You’re so fucking clumsy.’

They’d been on tour exactly a month today (hence the party) and Chris had already almost landed them in the ER twice; once when he’d slipped on the steps getting off the bus on the third day and once when he’d nearly choked to death on an oreo a week ago. And yesterday on stage he’d tripped over the cable to Ryan’s amp and Josh had had to grab by his stupid stud belt to prevent him going face first into the crowd.

‘No,’ Chris says, smudging the blood on his face with the back of his hand, ‘it’s you and all of your—’ he waved his hand vaguely, ‘and all of your everything. It’s distracting.’

‘All of my everything?’ Ricky repeats, amused. Chris nods like what he’s said makes perfect sense and Ricky rolls his eyes.

‘So does it hurt?’ he asks when Chris lowers the can, balancing it on the arm of the couch.

‘Not really,’ Chris says, fingertips pressing at his face tentatively.

‘You sure?’ Ricky says picking at a loose thread on the ripped knee of Chris’ jeans, not looking at him, ‘—you sure you don’t want _Dr Horror_ to kiss it better?’ Chris snorts at the line.

‘Maybe,’ he says and Ricky grins.

‘Where’s it hurt?’ Ricky asks, getting up on his knees on the couch to crawl over to Chris. He climbs into his lap and Chris hands settle lightly on his thighs. Ricky can feel the heat from them soaking through the denim of his jeans.

It's still kind of new; them like this. And for a second he’s unsure but then Chris’ hands are on him, fingertips nearly meeting around his waist and every other thought goes out of his head.

Ricky kisses him, forgetting about the blood still on his face and making Chris grunt as he locks his arms around his neck. Ricky rolls his hips up into Chris’ hands and he laughs.

‘Yeah, c’mon,’ he says, mouth curving as he kisses Ricky behind the ear and he slides his hands down to grab his ass. Chris grips him hard, still licking at his mouth. Ricky hums, letting Chris pull his head into his shoulder as he kisses his neck.

Then Chris is pushing and pulling him until Ricky’s on his back on the dusty couch. Chris is knelt over him, thighs bracketing his legs. He gasps, feeling Chris’ hands on his waistband, unbuckling his belt and dragging down his zip. Chris pulls down his jeans and underwear, Ricky squirming to help, enough to get at his dick.  
  
Chris bends holding the base as he takes the rest of it straight into his mouth. Ricky nearly bites through his lip, trying to keep in a strangled moan, head thunking back into the couch cushions hands coming up to cover his flushed face. Chris sucks him and it feels incredible. One hand spread on Ricky’s hip as his mouth slides over his dick over and over.

Ricky groans in his throat, nails digging into his palms, knuckles pressing into his eye sockets trying to distract himself from the urge to fuck up into Chris’ mouth. Chris sits up to pant, replacing his mouth with his hand, which is almost worse. Ricky arches his back, hips rolling in spite of himself.

Chris hums appreciatively, other hand smoothing up his stomach to push his t-shirt up as he takes in the sight of Ricky fucking himself into his palm.

‘Let me see your face,’ Chris says and Ricky whines but does it, letting his arms drop onto the couch above his head. He looks at Chris, meeting his eyes and feeling his cheeks burn. Chris’ eyes skate away, flicking down to Ricky’s body then up again.

‘You don’t have to be like… careful, y’know,’ he says, ‘you can hold my head, or whatever, and you don't have to pull out, okay?’

‘You like that?’ Ricky asks, eyelashes flickering, wondering if perhaps it would have been easier to have this conversation without Chris’ hand on his dick.

‘Yeah,’ Chris says, shrugging and looking down again.

‘Sure,’ Ricky nods, panting, and Chris nods too, bending to take his dick back in his mouth. Ricky puts his hands on his shoulders — not wanting to escalate too quickly — but Chris moans around his dick and the sound flips Ricky’s stomach and his hand snaps to fist in Chris’ hair almost on instinct. _Fucking hell_.

He plants his other hand between Chris’ shoulder blades, wriggling in too tight jeans until he can dig his heels into the couch, legs bent up one knee in Chris’ armpit and the other digging into his bicep so he can use his legs to push into him. He fucks into Chris’ mouth, fast, short thrusts.

Chris is really moaning now and it’s twisting up his insides until he can barely breathe he’s so close. His spine curves, hips rolling. Chris’ hands are tight on his thighs, pulling him deeper, and Ricky can feel sweat prickling across his chest and back. It’s too much. Chris’ mouth, gluey with saliva, is too much. The sweet ache in his hip joint from being bent up at such an awkward angle is too much.

‘I’m gonna—’ Ricky grits out, gasping in air, and hears Chris mumbled whine in assent. He comes, eyes rolling back as he groans.

It takes a moment for the world to come back to him and he’s still trying to get his eyes to focus as he relaxes his hands on Chris and he sits up. He’s breathing hard, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

‘You okay?’ Ricky asks, sucking his lip. He's kind of a mess but his eyes are burning. ‘was that too—’

‘No, it’s hot,’ Chris says, bending to kiss him, tongue sliding past his lips. And Ricky’s surprised by how okay he is with the fact he can definitely taste his own come right now. Ricky reaches for Chris’ fly and Chris groans softly, pressing into his hand.

‘You want me to blow you?’ he asks, sliding down his zip.

But before Chris can answer there’s a creak and then a thump, and Ricky realises that’s the very distinctive sound of someone coming down the basement steps.

‘Shit,’ Chris says and they spring apart to fumble their clothes back on as a plaintive call of _are you guys dead?_ comes down the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> I miss Ricky's scene hair 😭
> 
> [xyours-eternallyx](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xyours-eternallyx) on tumblr 🙌


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